


Too New To Pass For Classic Status

by burntcopper



Category: Torchwood
Genre: 1930s, M/M, PG wodehouse appreciation, delovely references, johnny weissmuller perving, valets, when in doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-11
Updated: 2011-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-22 12:07:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burntcopper/pseuds/burntcopper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timeslips, unfortunately, are an occupational hazard when near the Rift. As is Jack's fetish for valets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too New To Pass For Classic Status

Jack's fiddling with his vortex manipulator and cross-checking the readings with a mound of scribbled-on papers when his throat starts feeling dry. He raises his voice to be heard through the flat. "Ianto, is there any coffee?" Instead of a reply, there's the sound of cursing and splashing from the bathroom. "...Ianto?" Putting down his pen, Jack gets up and pokes his head around the bathroom door. "Do I want to know?"

Ianto looks up with exasperation from the tub. "Do you know how difficult it is to get stains out of decent linen? Particularly blackcurrant?"

"I thought you took it to the cleaners." Jack says, a little surprised. The laundry's only a few streets away.

Ianto grits his teeth. "I refuse to patronise a cleaners that cannot do their job." He pauses before adding "If you want coffee, you can get it yourself. The bloody laundry took priority over trekking across town to get coffee beans." He scrubs at the sheets some more. "Are you sure Torchwood wouldn't be of any use to us in our situation?"

Jack shakes his head. "Afraid not. I've been through their archives - most of which is in Scotland right now - and though they've got everything from toasters and spare engine parts to musical instruments and an entire dinner service, there's nothing related to time travel." He turns a wry grin on Ianto. "Besides, turning up there even with accreditation and full knowledge of their workings wouldn't endear us to them. The stirrings in Europe are making them kinda paranoid."

"So what do you suggest we do? Enamoured as I am of the thirties, I'm not sure I want to live out the rest of my days in a place that is lacking in colour TV and the internet. Even if my coffee needs are amply catered for."

"At the moment, the best thing I can think of is monitor weather patterns and energy readings for spikes. I'm not prepared to blow the Rift open just to get us home."

Ianto shudders. "I believe I might share that opinion with you on that subject."  
\----

\---Three months previously---

\----

On the bay, three members of Torchwood and a couple of policemen are left staring. "What... what just happened?" one of the coppers asks. "I mean, one minute your boss was holding a gun on that weirdo who was holding your bloke hostage, next thing they're just not there."

"Not even the courtesy to have a nice big flash of light or anything," the other one notes. "Could've at least made a noise."

Owen closes his mouth. "Buggered if I know. Tosh, you getting any readings off the area?"

Tosh frowns, examining the readout on her pda. "There's a faint energy signature, but it's very, very faint. Nothing that reads like anything familiar in the vicinity."

Gwen moves forward to the spot Jack, Ianto, and the man - alien - they were chasing had previously occupied. She squats, checking the ground. "Not a mark. Might want to go over it with a fine-tooth comb..."

"Does the CSI thing work in these cases?" the first copper muses, scratching the back of his head. "I know you Special Ops buggers have all kinds of fancy gadgetry, but those three just vanished into thin air and your girl there said there weren't any energy readings. Which is the kind of thing you'd normally look for."

"Yes, well, you'd know all about that sort of thing, wouldn't you?" Owen snarks back.

"No need to get pissy, just asking a question," the copper replies mildly.

"I think we need to get further readings of the site in general." Gwen says, straightening up. "Thanks for your help, lads, but we're going to handle it from here."

"Well, rather you than me for chasing after people who disappear without a trace in front of your eyes," the copper says, shoving his hands in his pockets as they prepare to leave. "Not one of those trapdoor things there, is there?"

"Look, just bugger off and let the professionals get on with their job, will you?" Owen says, and mutters to Tosh as they leave "Trapdoors. In solid sodding tarmac. What'll they think of next in PC Plod school?"

\----

Jack blinks as the scenery around them changes. The alien with a knife to Ianto's throat looks just as surprised, loosening its grip, which gives Ianto the opportunity to bang his head back into its nose, before elbowing it hard in the stomach. His captor proceeds to let go of Ianto entirely, more concerned with the bile streaming from its nose and apparent pain in its torso. That's when it collapses to its knees, holding its stomach.

"Ianto, I don't know what this alien looks like on the inside, but I think you may have ruptured something," Jack comments, still holding the gun on it.

"Seems so, sir." Ianto replies. The alien's looking worse by the second, to the point of turning over and retching a lot more of that black bile.

"Make that definitely ruptured something. Looks like he's got the world's worst ulcer or that's a weak point in this species."

The alien convulses and lays still. Ianto cautiously turns it over with his foot after a minute, his own gun still trained on it in case of sudden moves. Jack presses a button on his wrist strap, which elicits a rather final-sounding beep. "I think we can safely say it's not a threat any more. Nice work." Jack puts the safety back on his gun and holsters it, then looks up at their surroundings. "Do you get the impression we're not in Kansas any more?"

"Quite possibly, sir." Ianto says, looking around. They're now in a back alley somewhere. Unfortunately, it shares the characteristic of all back alleys everywhere across the time-space continuum, decorated with the occasional piece of broken glass and litter, and the certainty that something's used it as a toilet sometime recently. They all bear a distinct resemblance to one another. Even the ones on the ice planets in the middle of a rather bloody revolution. It's not exactly conducive to figuring out where they are without venturing out.

Jack frowns, then starts fiddling with his wrist computer. "Trying to get a fix on our position... Huh."

"What precisely does 'huh' mean, sir?" Ianto asks, his tone of voice even and pleasant.

"You can stop with the 'sir's now, Ianto. I'm pretty certain that this isn't my fault. We're not in Cardiff. Not even in Wales. London, actually." He pauses again. "And I hate to say this, but... this isn't the 21st century, either. I don't know what this alien did, or what glitch in the rift we hit, but..." He starts walking out of the alley, following a signal, Ianto following. He stops after two turns, and nods at the scene in the main street before him. Across the road, a cinema is advertising _Tarzan the Ape-Man_. Traffic's passing. A car beeps its horn to tell a pedestrian to get out of the way. Only everyone's dressed just that little bit differently and it's fairly clear that the cinema isn't hosting a vintage film season. Not to mention that the car's paint job was a little too new to pass for 'classic' status. "Welcome to 1932, Ianto Jones."

\----

Once they get the body stashed away behind a couple of bins and get the scene of the incident cleaned up as best they can in the circumstances, their immediate situation becomes more pressing.

"Jack, what precisely are we going to do for resources? I highly doubt walking into the Torchwood organisation and demanding ID is going to work, since it's not likely that they'll have records of employees that disappeared from the future," Ianto says. "I presume it shouldn't be too difficult to get work, but records may be more difficult."

"Records and ID shouldn't be a problem." Jack says dismissively. "Just got to find the right people to talk to, and I've never had a problem getting them fast before. Right now, I want a shower and a clean shirt." With that, he walks off, Ianto having no choice but to follow behind.

After a few minutes, they end up in Fitzrovia in front of a rather familiar front door. Ianto looks up at the building. The only change to the front is the absence of the keypad. Even the door's the same colour. "I'd been aware that you'd owned the flat for quite some time, but I wasn't aware you'd owned it this long."

"I discovered the advantages of having my own place in London early on, Ianto." Jack pulls the key from behind a brick camouflaged by a perception filter and grins. "Coming up?"

"Dare I ask what the plan is?" Ianto asks after they've cleaned up a bit. "I would think contacting the current Torchwood to see if they could help might be of some use."

Jack crosses his arms, leaning back against the sofa arm. "Considering I'm currently in America at this point, doing surveillance and tracking down some artefacts, I think they'd take a dim view of a doppelganger turning up. Torchwood in this time and place are very, very suspicious and untrusting people."

Ianto raises an eyebrow. "Which of course is completely different from the organisation we know. You could have come back for a short break. They're not going to be able to prove -"

"Ianto." Jack breaks in, then his tone changes to one that he uses when humouring small children. Or government ministers. "The current me is starring in Cole Porter's _The Gay Divorce_ on Broadway."

"Hmm. Definitely problematic, that one," Ianto concedes, then he sighs in a distinctly long-suffering tone. "Jack. Tell me you didn't -"

Jack's current expression is the patented Harkness grin. Like a Cheshire Cat, but filthier. "I'll tell you the story about the Central Park cab ride later, then."

Ianto just rolls his eyes. "And to think there was once a time I put your stories down to exaggeration. So since contacting Torchwood is out of the question, might I ask what plans we can make for money to live on whilst we try to find a solution?"

Jack rubs his chin, thoughtfully. "I always did wonder where that drain on my bank account came from in this era."

Ianto blinks. "You didn't even ask?"

Jack shrugs. "The tellers were all very firm about it being me who withdrew the money. It's not like you could mistake this jawline."

"It's reassuring to know that in a changing world, your ego is a constant, sir," Ianto comments.

Once Ianto's located the spare key, they head back out. Jack straightens his new, period-specific jacket, before putting the other key back behind the brick. Ianto in his suit actually fits in better than Jack. It's not quite in fashion, but it'll pass nicely. "Right. First things first. We need to find the nearest Post Office."

Ianto raises an eyebrow. "Dare I ask? Are we accessing your Post Office account as well as your bank account?"

Jack strides off. "No, we're going to send a telegram."

\----

Tosh sighs and puts the scanner away. "I think we've done all we can here. I need to get back to the Hub to check the Rift scanner."

"You only went over it a couple of times, are you sure there's nothing in the forensics?" Gwen asks.

"If you can get anything out of a blank bit of tarmac, be my guest." Owen says, shouldering his bag.

They've just turned to walk back to the SUV when they get stopped by a courier looking a little bit baffled. "You Toshiko Sato?" he asks Tosh.

Tosh blinks. "Um, yes, can I help?"

"Was told to deliver a letter at this address to you, registered post," he replies, pulling out an envelope.

Owen looks around at the alley entrance. "What, here?"

The courier squints at the front of the letter, which has been vacuum sealed. "Says here at this time. You going to sign for it or not?" he says, shoving the pad at her. Tosh signs for it, taking the letter and staring at it.

Gwen cranes her head to look at it. "What is it?"

Tosh turns it over, frowning. "I'm not sure." Underneath the plastic packaging, it looks a bit stained, and the plastic is covered in stickers of various ages.

"Well, open it." Owen says impatiently.

"It might have something odd about it."

"Course it's bloody odd, someone wanted it delivered here. It's a letter, fucking well open it."

Tosh peels the plastic back tentatively to reveal an envelope that's stained due to age rather than water or anything else. On the envelope, it's addressed to her, address and time written on it and marked as urgent. Opening it reveals a telegram dated 1932, August 28th. Tosh reads it and giggles.

"Well? What does it say?" Owen says impatiently.

Tosh stifles another giggle and reads it out. "Tosh, shoot Owen if he tries to touch the Rift manipulator. Stop. We'll find our own way back. Stop. Jack. Stop."

Owen takes it from her, reading it for himself. "He's been stealing ideas from Back to the Future again," he groans. "Typical bloody Harkness, he could've at least told us something useful like where the emergency codes are being kept this time. Knowing my luck, Ianto's stuck them under Myfanwy's nest." He shoves the telegram in his pocket and strides back to the SUV. "You two coming or you going to find your own way back? Work to do, ladies."

\----

Setting up life in 1932 when you're in the company of Jack Harkness is surprisingly easy.

However, Ianto's forced to question certain parts of their new existence. Especially the way he's introduced after Jack gets him to answer the door when Jack's getting out of the bath.

After their visitor leaves, Ianto leans against the door and fixes Jack with a look. "Jack, why am I suddenly the bloody valet?"

Jack shrugs and grins. "Good cover for two men living together. Besides, you make such a good gentleman's personal gentleman."

Ianto eyes him. "You could have said 'secretary'."

"Wouldn't give you the excuse to live here." Jack takes the towel from around his shoulders and rubs his hair with it, walking back into the bathroom. "And you do supercilious so well."

Ianto follows him and hands him the bigger towel from the rail as Jack pulls his bathrobe off so he can get properly dry. "If we're going with that as the cover, dare I ask whether you'll be coming home with horrendous alpine hats that I'll be forced to burn? Or perhaps spectacularly inadvisable engagements that I'll have to extract you from?"

"Depends," Jack grins. "I've always been appreciative of a well-crafted disapproving glare or two. Pretty hot, in my opinion."

"I only ask that you stay away from garish cummerbunds for the sake of my sanity." Ianto requests calmly.

\----  
Jack's lounging on the sofa reading when Ianto opens the door to the flat, the strains of Irving Berlin coming from the wireless in the corner. Jack looks up as he goes to put his purchases away in the kitchen and fix a new pot of coffee. Jack's been banned from touching the machine under any circumstances since his first disastrous attempt. "Find anything interesting, Ianto?"

"The baker appears to be experimenting with some new types of loaf, sir." Ianto replies. "I've also been persuaded to join a club by certain of my acquaintances."

Jack's expression turns speculative. "Now that definitely sounds interesting. You've been holding out on me, Ianto. How do I join?"

"They're very selective about their membership, sir."

"Never met a club I couldn't gain access to."

"You'd find this one a little difficult. You're not a gentleman's personal gentleman, as you're quite aware. And I very much doubt you could pass for one."

Jack sighs. "Damn, foiled again. Are they all as efficient as you?"

"Perhaps not all of them."

\----

The door to the flat closes behind Ianto. Jack looks up from his book as Ianto removes his hat and places it on the hatstand. "Have a good time at the Junior Ganymede?"

Ianto rolls his eyes. "I hate to dispel your fantasies, Jack, but you know that's not its name."

"Crush my cherished illusions, why don't you." Jack grins.

"It's all part of the service, sir." Ianto replies, hanging up his coat. He deposits his jacket in his room and comes back in, rolling up his shirtsleeves. "However, you'll be happy to know that your constant flirting has convinced them that we're shagging. They'd pegged you as an invert from day one."

Jack grins sheepishly. "Ah. Getting problems?"

Ianto picks up the dirty cup on the side table. "Surprisingly, no. I suppose I should give thanks that you appear to be deemed a category all of your own."

Jack relaxes, the grin getting wider. "Always nice to be acknowledged. Though you'd be surprised how many of them were having it off with their employers. Used to be a standard cover for lovers."

"Quite probably for some members of the club, certainly." Ianto agrees. "However, it is not something that's talked about in the hearing of the more senior members. We pride ourselves on being discreet if nothing else." He eyes Jack. "If your grin got any wider, sir, I'm convinced the top of your head would fall off. That was not meant to fuel your fantasies."

Jack gets up from his chair and puts his book to one side, advancing on Ianto and taking the cup from him, caressing Ianto's hand as he does. "But they're such achievable fantasies."

Ianto raises his eyebrow. "I find that hard to believe."

Jack moves his caress up to Ianto's wrist, rubbing the jutting out bone there with his thumb. "But it's so easy. Faithful valet, devastatingly attractive employer..."

"I was referring to the part that's normally associated with such arrangements." Ianto replies dryly. "I don't think discretion has ever been part of your vocabulary, Jack."

"It's a new year's resolution." Jack says, trailing his fingers up the inside of Ianto's forearm, stopping at the rolled-up cuff of his shirt.

"Really."

"I didn't say *which* new year," Jack replies.

\---

Ianto's in the middle of making breakfast when Jack makes an "Ah-hah!" noise behind him.

"Something of interest in the paper, I take it?" Ianto asks, turning the bacon.

"Weather report," Jack replies. "I knew there'd been something going on around this time, and this confirms it. Freak hailstorm in Guildford."

"And that helps us get home how?"

"It means that the Rift's going through a period of disruption that we should be able to exploit," Jack says, turning the page.

"And if we can't?" Ianto says carefully, stirring the beans. "Much as I was a fan of war comics as a child, I'm not sure I want to live through the Blitz."

Jack gets up from the table and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Look, I'm pretty sure we'll get back soon enough. There were never any reports of there being two of me running around aside from in one period during the war, and I checked really thoroughly the second time around to make sure I didn't bump into myself."

Ianto turns his head to look at Jack. "Precisely how many people were in the air force answering to your description during the war, Jack?"

Jack coughs. "Three that I know of."

Ianto goes back to the bacon, poking at it. "I'm all ears."

\---

Coach and Horses, Greek Street. Jack's chatting to an acquaintance, Charlie. Charlie takes a puff on his fag. "Jack, you really have to give me the name of the agency you got your valet from. Jones is a marvel. All of my last three have been hopeless."

Jack grins, sipping at his drink. "Can't help you there. I bumped into him in Cardiff when I got into a spot of bother, and later when I was attempting to track an escaped dog down. Dab hand with a slab of chocolate is Jones. Offered him a job on the spot after that escapade."

"You wouldn't think of transferring his contract, would you?" Charlie sighs, then offers hopefully. "I'd make it worth your while."

Jack shakes his head ruefully. "Sorry, Charlie. I've got used to having him around."

\----

In the alley, Jack's taking energy readings with his wrist computer while Ianto holds the umbrella to keep the rain off them. "Getting anywhere, sir?" He asks after a while.

They've been monitoring the area they arrived in periodically, trying to get a pattern and comparing it with any other records they can find, then cross-referencing those with the data stored in Jack's wrist computer. Not to mention some ... interesting people Jack knows in this era. From cataloguers of meteorite showers to a few who Ianto is almost definitely sure aren't from this planet. He's pretty sure he's been in the second-hand bookshop in Soho before, and the owner of the shop was the same man as the one in the 21st century. That one didn't count amongst the possibly-aliens, though.

Jack looks up at the rain, gets a couple of lights to flash on the display, then closes it. "Getting closer." He puts his hands in his pockets and starts walking. Ianto follows with the umbrella. At the mouth of the alley, Jack stops, looks at the cinema across the street and grins. "Fancy the cinema, Ianto?" It's still showing _Tarzan_.

"I presume a running commentary on Johnny Weissmuller in a loincloth will be impossible to avoid." Ianto replies.

"And Maureen O'Sullivan. Never let it be said that I wasn't equal opportunity." Jack say, flashing one of his matinee-idol grins.

"Did I at all imply that you weren't?" Ianto asks, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as they cross the street. "You're buying the mints, though."

"Does that mean I get to grope you in the dark?"

"It's never stopped you before, Jack."

END

**Author's Note:**

> I deny any and all fetish for a) valet-fic and b) the 1930s. I do, however, blame PG Wodehouse for a *lot*.


End file.
